


sorrow surrenders its crown

by Ingi



Series: All The Kinks [2]
Category: Satan and Me (Webcomic)
Genre: Angry Sex, Angst, Community: kink_bingo, Episode: The Gift, Exhibitionism, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marking, Possessive Behavior, Rough Body Play, Tattoos, Wall Sex, Wing Kink, some blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-11 09:30:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11145666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ingi/pseuds/Ingi
Summary: They're so close. Lucifer blinks, and his eyelashes brush Michael's face. And Michael remembers: being this close, Lucifer's heart under his palms, his mouth on Lucifer's, Lucifer biting his lower lip,Lucifer, andforever forever forever. They were brothers then and they will never be again, not like that, and Michael hurts everywhere. His nails are digging into Lucifer's shoulders. He doesn't even think about it, he just smashes their lips together, throwing himself into it like it's going to change anything.





	sorrow surrenders its crown

**Author's Note:**

> Well, look at me, for once writing what I said I was going to write! In my mind, this is the sequel of  
> [in the dark book of the beginning](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11145534), but you don't need to read it to understand this one.  
> This is also another fill for the Kink Bingo, for Rough Body Play, Possession/Marking, Exhibitionism, Bodies and Body Parts, and Tattoos/Tattooing.

There is nothing wherever Michael is, no sound and no color and _no light_.

There used to be, but now Lucifer's wings are in a box in front of him and all he wants is to _destroy_ , and even that will have to wait, because his own traitor tears are blurring his vision and his entire body is shaking and he's weak, useless, he can't even stand on his feet and _Lucifer_ , Lucifer won't come back, Lucifer isn't anything of his anymore, because she took his _wings_ , like she had the right, and Michael _can't breathe_.

"Michael," a voice says through the fog, and he only even notices because then it says _Lucifer_ , and Michael's ears are so attuned to that name that he involuntarely focuses on whoever is hovering over him. Gabriel. Gabriel, who was in the tank, and Michael can't deal with this right now. "Michael, are you listening? I'm going to find out what happened to Lucifer, but we need to talk."

No. He doesn't want to talk with Gabriel. He doesn't want to talk at all- no. He wants to talk with Lucifer. He wants to talk with his brother. And Father said they were all siblings but it was a lie, his brother is Lucifer and his wings- his _wings_ , and it wasn't supposed to happen like this at all.

He manages to stand up, stumbling on his feet, and someone appears by his side and tries to hold him up. Michael suspects it's Jophiel, but he doesn't care enough to check.

"I'm going," he hisses. " _I'm_ going."

"Michael, you can't go," the angel by his side says, and yes, definitely Jophiel, because he never learns. "You can't even hold yourself up-"

Michael disappears before he can hear the end of sentence.

He can't feel Lucifer, usually, but now his distress is so strong, the distress of _both_ of them, that Lucifer's presence hits Michael like a physical blow as soon as his feet touch the ground. Michael follows the trail to a small house in a badly-lit street and barges in, half-blind with desperation, and his eyes find Lucifer immediately. He's sitting on a couch with his head in his hands, but he startles when he hears Michael come in and his expression darkens even further.

"Michael? What are you _doing_ here?"

And Michael wasn't planning on speaking, didn't think he could, but for some reason he does.

"What did she do to you?" he hisses, his voice sounding as wrecked as he feels. Lucifer's eyes widen. "How could you _let her_? She had no right!"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Lucifer replies, and moves further back in the couch, as if trying to hide his back from Michael. Michael almost laughs, but he can't remember how that's done. "And will you shut the fuck up? Natalie is sleeping in the other room. Well- sleeping, knocked out, _whatever_ , but I've had enough bullshit today to deal with-"

"She took your wings," Michael whispers. "She _took your wings_. And she sent them to me wrapped like a fucking _gift_ -"

"That fucking bitch!" Lucifer yells, standing up. "They rip me off and she-"

Michael crosses the room in two fast strides and stops right in front of Lucifer, so close that he can smell the blood in Lucifer's back, so close that he can see every detail of Lucifer's eyes, how Hell seems to be only a breath away from bursting through.

" _Why_?" he says, so soft he can barely hear it himself.

And a part of him, the _rational_ part, is not expecting Lucifer to answer at all, but it seems rationality and sanity don't matter anymore and all that there's is pain, pain, _pain_ , and a rawness Michael hasn't felt since he was created.

"She was dead," Lucifer replies, breathing harsh and loud and hot against Michael's face. "Natalie- Pestilence took her. This was the only thing she wanted for an exchange. But they _ripped me off_." And he's furious, now, his eyes are twin flames Michael has burned himself in way too many times. And Michael thinks _he said they_ , and he thinks _what did he give to Death_. "She doesn't remember a thing, Michael. Do you even _understand_ \- I gave up my wings for this girl and she doesn't even _remember_ me."

"You should have let her die!" Michael screams, before he can help it, and the unbearable heat of Lucifer's rage focuses on him.

" _This_ is your infamous love for humans?" he says, in a low whisper that is all scorn and _danger_. He pushes Michael against the wall, hard enough that his bones rattle, and his body might be little more than an illusion but that doesn't mean it doesn't _hurt_. "You're nothing but masks. You're a _lie_. So not even the wings of a traitor are worthless enough to waste on saving a human life, are they now?" he hisses.

Every bit of him is pressed against Michael and he leans in so close that their noses are touching, and Michael- Michael realizes that tears are gathering in his eyes again, and he can't stop it.

" _Nothing_ is worth your wings!" he howls. His hands desperately grapple for Lucifer's shoulders, grip them like claws, tearing the skin until it bleeds. "You can't come back now! _You can't come back_!"

That seems to take Lucifer aback. The hands on Michael's hip and shoulder press him harder against the wall, and then they're forehead to forehead and Lucifer is looking at him in that way he hasn't in ages, and he's staring at Michael's tears like he wants to lick them away, and Michael _wants_ , wants exactly like he did when they were newly-created and innocent, soft.

"I was never going to come back, Michael," Lucifer says, quiet but urgent, and shushes him when the next onslaught of tears comes. "Shut up. _Shut up_. You can't wake Natalie up. It was hard enough to knock her out the first time." He groans, irritated. "It was always meant to end like this, Michael, for fuck's sake."

Lucifer used to think he could do anything. Lucifer used to _be_ that powerful, too, but they broke that in him and now he's- _defeated_ , and empty, and it's not a good look on him, Lucifer was always meant to stand tall and proud and lead and be _light_. Lucifer. Morning star. Not anyone's, now, except Michael's. Even after everything. Michael knows how it usually goes: villain is born, villain is punished. But no one ever taught him how to stop caring. No one ever taught Lucifer, either, and perhaps Michael could've scorned him if they had, if Lucifer had lost himself, but Lucifer only fell, he was never _lost_.

"Dad said-" Michael starts, but Lucifer glares at him.

"It doesn't matter, what Dad said!" he interrupts. "He was playing with us. That's all He ever does."

"You could've asked for help!" Michael yells. "You know I would've given it to you!"

"I would have thought you'd be happy," Lucifer says, between his teeth. He gives Michael the most horrible smile, all fangs. "You were the first one who wanted my wings gone, after all."

"If I'd wanted to take your wings, I would've taken them," Michael reminds him, shaking.

They've never discussed this before. Nothing, _nothing_ Michael has ever done or said was as painful as taking one of Lucifer's pairs of wings, and of all the things that weight between them, that one's the heaviest by far. But Michael took them and didn't burn them, as he should have, he kept them safe, and he would've never imagined Lucifer could think he'd _wanted_ to do it.

"You couldn't have done shit," Lucifer says, face blank. "You couldn't have brought her back to life. You couldn't have healed her, not from Pestilence. Do you really believe I didn't think about it? You were my first option, but it would've been useless."

They're so close. Lucifer blinks, and his eyelashes brush Michael's face. And Michael remembers: being this close, Lucifer's heart under his palms, his mouth on Lucifer's, Lucifer biting his lower lip, _Lucifer_ , and _forever forever forever_. They were brothers then and they will never be again, not like that, and Michael hurts everywhere. His nails are digging into Lucifer's shoulders. He doesn't even think about it, he just smashes their lips together, throwing himself into it like it's going to change anything.

Lucifer makes a startled noise that Michael swallows, and pushes him even harder against the wall, nearly lifting his feet from the floor. They have forgotten how to kiss gentle, but Michael doesn't miss it, not when Lucifer's devouring his mouth so thoroughly and his heart is pounding in his throat.

"Luce," Michael says. " _Luce_."

The hand on Michael's hip strokes over the bone there, bunching up his sweater until the palm brushes bare skin, and then it keeps dragging up Michael's side. Michael is too warm all of the sudden and his skin is erupting into goosebumps, because his darned illusion of a body is _too real_ , and he wants to kiss Lucifer again, but instead he tilts his head down and latches his mouth on Lucifer's neck, sucking a bruise there. Lucifer is _his_ , he's Michael's, and no one has the right to take anything from him but that's all everyone has ever done, take his attention and his will and his power and his _wings_.

So Michael leaves another mark, deep and alarmingly purple even in Lucifer's dark skin, and then another one, and meanwhile Lucifer is holding him back with the hand on his shoulder and the other keeps stroking Michael's chest, so rough that Michael can almost imagine the skin peeling away to reveal the core. And then Lucifer smoothly slides his hand back to Michael's chiton to palm his crotch, and Michael chokes on a sob. His whole body spasms, startled, and Lucifer laughs, and it's not particularly mean but Michael still bites on his shoulder hard enough to leave the shape of his teeth and pinpricks of blood there.

Lucifer growls, like an _animal_. He presses down on Michael's crotch until there's almost more pain than pleasure, but Michael finds even that feels good, because it's _Lucifer_ doing it. He wraps a leg around Lucifer's waist, pulling him harder against him, and Lucifer grips his thighs to hoist him up.

The new angle is almost too good, their crotches pressed together so tight that Michael almost forgets what's he's doing, but both of them are throbbing and Michael's struck with the realization of how much Lucifer _wants him_. They shouldn't be doing this at all, he remembers that too, but Lucifer starts thrusting against him and Michael throws his head back and doesn't even care about how he keeps knocking against the wall with every thrust, and he loses his trail of thought entirely until Lucifer goes looking for him mouth and Michael bites him so hard he draws blood, because rough is all they know now. He drags his nails down Lucifer's back, and Lucifer suddenly freezes and lets out a sound that is nowhere close to pleasure, a sound like a hundred of precious glass bells breaking at the same time, and Michael brings his hands back to Lucifer's shoulders and sees them bloodied.

There are two reopened wounds in Lucifer's back now, wounds that no one can't heal. Michael hides his face in Lucifer's neck and sobs, and that only seems to make Lucifer angrier. He thrusts harder against Michael, and Michael lets him, thrusts back, because they shouldn't be doing this but no one should've taken Lucifer's wings either, and it _happened_.

"Stop that," Lucifer suddenly says, harsh, and he must mean the crying, because he never stops moving against Michael.

So Michael lifts his head and Lucifer kisses his tears away, and then he refuses to look at him. But he kisses him instead, and that's more than fine with Michael.

"Why did you save her?" he whispers.

There must be something _broken_ in him, when all he keeps thinking is Lucifer should have let her die, and that's not what he's supposed to think at all. She's human and he should protect her, want her safe more than anything, especially more than _Satan_ , and he does like her, for all that it matters, but- Lucifer comes first, Lucifer always comes first even if it's just in the privacy of his mind, and Michael has never been as fond as humans as he should be but this is _too much_.

"She used her deal to silence Hell," Lucifer answers, momentarily stilling, and his eyes lock on Michael's so Michael can see, clear as day, that it's much more complicated than that. He doesn't elaborate, and Michael doesn't ask him to.

"Put me down," he says, before can think about it, and _yes_ , yes, that way Lucifer can touch him more, but Lucifer only laughs.

"No," he replies. Michael kisses him, for no reason at all except that he can. "No, I think I will keep you here, so they can see you better," Lucifer growls, low in his throat. "So they can _all_ see you, see how much you fucking want this. Even after everything," he says, licking Michael's collarbone, "you're still _mine_."

This is not about shame. Michael can feel it crawling up to suffocate him, but it retreats at Lucifer's tone, too breathy, almost marvelled, and Michael understands all too well. He would rather lie, to save some of his pride, but it's too late for that and he was never that great at lying to Lucifer. They've been like this since the beginning.

"Luce," Michael says, and it's too close to begging for comfort.

"You _want_ them to see you, don't you?" Lucifer insists. He's smiling, in that smug way of his that tells Michael that he's truly fucked, mostly because _he's not wrong_. "Take this off." It's an order, and he's nuzzling at Michael's sweater. So Michael takes it off, almost automatically, and shivers when Lucifer bends down to nibble his nipples. "They're all looking at you," he whispers. "They're watching their leader fall to pieces because of one of the Fallen, but don't worry, I'm sure they think you're doing it _beautifully_."

Lucifer has always been good at this, taking something that shouldn't be a strength and turning it into one, making up his own power until it became real. Michael used to wonder how that felt, and now he knows.

"And do you?" Michael asks, hands going to loosen the knot tying his chiton together. He smiles as it falls open and Lucifer watches, licking his lips, his eyes the ones of a starving man.

"You're so much better when you aren't speaking," Lucifer replies, which isn't an answer at all, but Michael gets it anyway. "They're all wishing they were here. They're all wishing they were me, so they could have you like this." Michael closes his eyes and he can almost feel the thousands of gazes on him, Lucifer's hands moving from his thighs to grab his ass, the silent espectators taking a collective intake of breath. "Stuffy idiots with their rules, their masks, and that fucking stick up their asses. I bet they're all hard and wet now." And Lucifer sounds so mischievous, so pleased about it, that Michael's eyes flutter open only to see his face. Lucifer is kneading Michael's ass without any gentleness, but his expression is softer than it was before. "I bet they haven't ever felt anything like this. They tried so hard to turn you into them, but it's going to be the other way around, isn't it?"

"Fuck me," Michael blurts out, because it's _Lucifer_ and he's always wanted to know how it'd feel.

But Lucifer puts him down, settles his hands on Michael's bare waist and pulls him in. Michael feels Lucifer's palms slidding up his back, stopping right over the point where his wings grow.

"Show me," he hisses, and Michael really _shouldn't_ , this could so easily be a trap, but- Lucifer would never take his wings.

"Wait," Michael says, kissing him deep and slow. "Let me- let me clean you up."

"They're going to keep bleeding anyway," Lucifer snaps out, as they're both painfully reminded of the situation. And Michael _knows_ , but he feels like lying to himself for a while, so he goes to get some cloth he can dampen from the kitchen. "Get some fucking oil or something, now that you're at it," Lucifer says. "Might as well make the spectacle good."

Michael comes back and Lucifer is naked, already offering him his back. It's the first time Michael has seen it tonight, and his mouth fills with bile and regret. He wants to scream, set something on fire, but that would fix nothing and Michael is _so_ tired and mostly he just wants Lucifer to fuck him already, so he brings the wet cloth to Lucifer's wounds and wipes away the blood with the most care either of them have shown in a long time.

The second Michael throws the cloth to the floor, Lucifer turns around and grabs him, hoists him up while drawing him into a kiss. Then Michael's back is against the wall again, and he tightens his legs around Lucifer's waist so his brother can take the oil from him and drench his hands with it. He lets the bottle fall, and his hands are back on Michael's ass immediately. A finger breaches him, faster than it's comfortable, but Michael still finds himself moaning.

"Are they still watching?" he asks, breathless, and Lucifer grins against his jaw.

"Oh, they're watching all right," he replies, thrusting the finger inside Michael at the same time he thrusts him against the wall. "I bet they're trying to fuck among themselves, the perverts, but they won't be nearly as good as us."

As if to prove it, he thrusts another finger into Michael, who curls his body up towards the sky. They're all watching. They're all _wanting_. The hand Lucifer is using to help him stay up keeps slipping until Lucifer grabs him so hard it actually hurts.

"Fuck me now," Michael says, and he lets his wings sprout from his back.

They wrap around them in a protective cocoon, bluer than any color that can be found on Earth, and Lucifer takes in a deep breath like he's somehow suffocating. His fingers leave Michael, but they're quickly replaced, and this time the pressure _burns_ and it shouldn't even matter after everything Michael's gone through, but it does, and it only makes it better.

Lucifer pushes into him roughly enough, fast enough, that Michael is pinned against the wall by the sheer strength of it, which is convenient because his entire body is shaking and his legs are slipping from Lucifer's waist, and Lucifer is pulling his hands away from Michael's ass and he's grabbing his wings instead. There are all kind of stories about the Fallen being driven to agony by the holiness of the touch of an angel's wings. Michael never believed those, but Lucifer's expression almost makes him doubt.

He thinks of Lucifer's wings, iridiscent and blinding in their brilliance, the most beautiful of them all. He thinks of his bare back, the wounds that will never completely stop bleeding, the box. He closes his eyes and pulls his wings tighter around Lucifer, and doesn't think of anything except for the way his brother is pounding into him, the pain and the pleasure of it. Lucifer's tugging at his wings, harsh, and they keep knocking against the wall in time with their movements, but they're more durable than they appear. Lucifer's touch is like balm on them, anyway, no matter how lacking in gentleness.

They're part of Michael's soul and they _recognize_ him.

"You can't shield me from this," Lucifer suddenly hisses, and Michael can't tell whether he's talking to him or to his wings, which keep curling the tips of their feathers protectively to brush Lucifer's back. Perhaps it's both.

Michael says nothing. He feels something building deep in his gut, already so close to release, and it will be release of desire and of energy too, and it will break them. He runs his fingers over Lucifer's tattoos, the power of them flowing up, towards him. He can taste Hell in the back of his mouth, but Lucifer pushing into him is nothing but holy.

He grits his teeth and spreads his palms over the tattoos. Lucifer smashes their lips together, as if knowing what's coming, but Michael only allows it for a while before wrenching his mouth away.

" _Look_ ," he says, and Hell listens.

The tattoos are meant to protect Lucifer from Hell. They can't protect Hell from _Michael_.

Lucifer's eyes turn blood red, and the tattoos are pulsing under Michael's fingers, but Michael only squeezes them tighter. He stares right into Hell. Lucifer is there, too, and he's _furious_ , but at the same time there's something else, something hungry. Lucifer's hips stutter. Michael seeks them out, imitates them, reminds them of their rhythm, and Lucifer, with Hell right under his skin, takes Michael's feathers to his lips to kiss them, to bite them, and they should slice right through his tongue but they _don't_.

"Even the damned are watching," Lucifer breathes into his ear, and Michael realizes he's shaking.

He digs his nails into the tattoos and comes with a scream Lucifer swallows, and Lucifer thrusting into him through it is agonizing, but Michael wouldn't ever want him to stop. And then Lucifer's eyes flicker, the red in them dissolving, and all that power changes tracks. Lucifer bites down on Michael's shoulder as he comes.

Michael slowly slips to the floor. He's lucky Lucifer hasn't let his wings go, because that's the only thing keeping him standing. His hands curled around Lucifer's shoulders, Michael leans against him and buries his face in his neck.

All the walls are broken, now, destroyed to pieces. As it is, Lucifer will soon learn that Michael didn't build them to keep him out, but to keep himself _in_.

"Luce," Michael starts, but Lucifer shakes his head and moves his hands to stroke the base of Michael's wings.

"Shut the fuck up," he says, sounding only tired.

He throws himself on the couch, dragging Michael with him, and Michael can't even remember the last time they were tangled like this but he _missed_ it. He does remember being angry and bitter and afraid. Hurt. _Devastated_. But it feels so far away right now. They're clean, in this infinite moment, like a recently washed wound. There will be more blood, later, but not for now.

"Is Gingersnap still sleeping?" he asks, distractedly, as he nestles in Lucifer's arms.

"Knocked out, not sleeping," Lucifer corrects him. A pause. "Can you- can you fix her?"

"I don't know," Michael replies, exhausted, and isn't that the story of his life.

It was supposed to be forever and it _wasn't_ , but this is what they have now.

It's enough.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> One thing that I found out while researching for this is that what the angels are wearing in this episode looks a lot like a chiton (except with a turtleneck over it), and chitons are Greek clothing that was often worn by men and allowed to distinguish free men from slaves, because free men wore chitons that showed their arms (like all the SaM angels are doing). Anyway, I just thought the symbology of it was pretty interesting.  
> And yeah, Lucifer totally broke into an empty house. I mean, no one was there, it was practically an _invitation_ , right?


End file.
